Mudblood Queen - A Queen will always turn pain into power
by tiinaR
Summary: A story about a war that did not truly ended. A story about a girl, that was too stubborn to give up. A story about an attempt to change it all. A Queen always turns pain into power.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

_London Grimmauld Place, December 20. 1978_

There was an old, opulent mansion in the heart of London. But for decades none of the people around seemed to notice this impressive building. Hidden from the world around, it came across to be remained in the last century. With high, narrow windows, the gothic exterior, with it's intricately carved entrance of snakes, appeared as imposing and ancient as the most noble family that lived there.

The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black was as formidable and eccentric as their main residence. The Black Family was infamous for their intellect, power and most importantly their temper. Behind closed doors you could hear others even call them batshit crazy. Those, who weren't as deranged were no part of the family anymore. Whether it was by burned off the family tree, disinherited or killed by their loving family members.

But at the moment, their home was peaceful and quiet. Especially since they were still asleep. The first stirring came at the crack of dawn. A small creature with big batlike floppy ears, grey skin and many wrinkles fought its way out of its cabinet in the basement kitchen. Kreacher, their house elf had work to do, he needed to start the breakfast for its masters, and mistress.

He was proud to work for them up to the day he would be too old to work and he looked forward to the day when his head would hang in the foyer, where all heads of his ancestors were stored by the mistress of the house. It was truly an honour to work until death for such a noble family. He would never willingly betray them. Disobedience would shame not only him, but his beloved mistress and young master.

But today, everything would change. Not exclusively for Kreacher, but for all magical kind. Not that they knew about it just yet. Kreacher felt something strange in the bond between him and his masters. It wasn't as strong and unyieling as it was normally. The ambient magic, which surrounded him was heavy, as if something big would disturb the normally calm surface of magic. It was foreboding and almost violent, panicked full of sorrow and pain. But Kreacher did not dwell on feelings, he had work to do. So went the time by, while the loyal elf took care of all household tasks. The breakfast was prepared, the kitchen was cleaned, and now the sound of activity filtered through the dark and narrow halls of Black Manor.

The first to rise was the heir Black. He took his time to awake properly and groom himself like it was expected for his noble breeding. The heir of Walburga and Orion Black was their youngest son Regulus Arcturus, who had just returned home a few days prior due to today's upcoming celebrations of Yule, the winter solstice.

It was the second yule celebration since he became heir, and it was his duty to stand by his family, while they would honour the old traditions_. He lost himself in his thoughts._ Prior to that, his elder brother Sirius was the heir. He never had been interested in anything that would have been befitting to his station as a member of an ancient and noble Bloodline. No, he even fought actively against it. It has been an open fought war between his mother and brother for years.

Sirius disgraced the family at the tender age of 11, by being sorted into the Gryffindor House, consorting with blood traitors, half breeds and mudbloods. Openly! All those, who in his family's eyes,were beneath them and a threat to their society by diluting the magical blood and power as well as for not carrying on their traditions.

He had betrayed his family, his blood. He ran away, and took Regulus chance to live as free as possible with him that night. So it was not surprising, that his parents were set off by only the mention his name. Regulus hated Sirius. Now he was the heir, now he had to uphold the family honour, now he had to serve a maniac, who tortured others for the fun of it.

There was no knock on the door. No - Walburga swept inside his room, without being asked for or being allowed. It was just not her style to ask for permission for anything. She stood in front of him making him feel small, inadequate, and lacking, as always. The room cooled significantly down, as if her frozen heart could cool the whole world. Her gaze wandered from top to bottom, searching for anything missing. Her eyes were just as cold as her heart and Regulus knew, she searched for any sign, that he would be as much as a disappointment as his older brother.

Naturally, she found him lacking. And so she disturbed the peace of the morning and began her monologue. How _proud_ she was of him, to behold the family honour by serving the Dark Lord. In moments like this, Regulus was quite pleased that he had mastered occlumency on such a level, that even Severus, the Dark Lord, his _mother_ could not break into his mind. Without that, _she_ already would have cursed him. Like she had done to Sirius, since he was a child. Regulus caught his thoughts wandering and began to listen to her clamouring. Oh, her Dark Lord, the true power of blood purity, and eliminating everything threatening the magical world. Pure Bloods had to show those scum their place. First, by providing a visual sign of their worth. If the sons and daughters of the sacred 28 would not be able to even dress themselves properly, everything else would fail as well. She turned up her nose at the sight his robes. Regulus raised a brow. They were traditional and ridiculously expensive. He had bought them himself only days before from Twilfit and Tattings. They were even quite a sight -black silk with tasteful emerald, ivory, and blood-red embroidery- the colours of Yule.

Ah... now he understood. She had not selected them, and he had the gall to choose something red. Sirius always wore red, like Gryffindor. Just a few stitches could set her off so easily... Regulus wanted to shake his head, while she berated his loyal house elf Kreacher for allowing these "disgusting rags" into the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black.

Regulus decided to stop her now, before he had to endure her foul mood all day. He excused himself for the faux pas and signaled her to leave the room, so he could change into her choosing, a set of black and silver dress robes.

And while she was gone, Regulus changed out of his clothing and into her choice. One had to choose their battles wisely. And so the truth festered in his heart. He would never be good enough for _her _or for his father. The second choice, never the first, and even that because there was no other to be picked.

As he put on his new shirt, he thought back to Sirius. But he would never speak about it, never speak about him, even if he missed his brother so much. Sirius had sheltered him as much as an older brother could have done, to the point that Sirius had almost broken himself.

And now, the boy without a choice started his day. Suddenly, the magic shifted around him. It smelled like change, tasted like revolution, and brought with it some needed hope. Regulus did not know, if it would get better. But he knew, to get better, it had to change.

The Blacks were not the only magicals, who felt the shift in magic. Today, everything would change for magical Britain, even if most of them would never know about it.


	2. 1-1Distress

**Autors Note: **The plotline doesn't follow the original (duh!). Therefore characters may develop differently. After all, experience forms the character.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, the great JKR does. But it's fun to play in her sandbox

**1.1 Distress**

_**The whole thing is quite hopeless, so it's no good worrying about tomorrow. It probably won't come. **__J R R Tolkien, The Return of the King_

_London Gringotts, December, 20. 1978_

There was a restlessness in the halls of Gringotts that no Goblin could remember in their life. They were up for hours, much earlier than their human counterparts. That was normal, but tonight many of them did not find a moment of rest. With midnight came wave after wave of volatile magic. And the master carvers grew concerned. They infused all the walls, tunnels and caves with massively strengthening magic.

Gringotts was the oldest building in London, and withstood time quite easily. Above ground Gringotts was known as THE wizarding Bank of Great Britain. Underneath, it was the home of the whole goblin nation - sturdy and unyielding like the warrior race itself.

But the ambient magic was building up like no other storm before. Furious waves broke into the walls of the ritual chamber in the center of their ancient stone and marble building. The goblin nation's caves were in danger through the emerging onslaught. All curse breakers were called in to set up extra wards. Because of the urgent need, those employed humans saw the main buildings in all beauty for the first time in centuries. Normally humans only saw the white, marble banking halls. Even the most wealthy of customers were only allowed through the labyrinthian offices below, but no one had ever seen the sacred halls of the goblin nation, where they kept all their secrets and old lore. Even the human employees of Gringotts had never been in these parts. The sanctuaries were hidden to protect the females, young, and the elders.

But now, they needed as much protection as possible. Dozens of curse breakers ran through the halls. Their chanting songs permeated the halls with their echos. White light fell onto the rough carved-out stones enclosing the main area. Their eyes widened, full of wonder for the masterpieces of architecture and art. Simultaneously, their faces filled with concern.

As curse breakers, they were taught a lot about themselves as well as their magic. Most of them understood magic as sentient and could see ley lines, auras, and the traces magic left in buildings and artifacts. The onslaught of these furious waves did not bode well for them. They were afraid not only for their employer but also for their families. If this storm was not treated properly, it would destroy more than just Gringotts or Diagon Alley. Only their Gringotts training and professionalism forced them to compartmentalize this fear. By conquering their fears, they spoke their the chants without pause or hesitation. One could think them callous to put their work before their families, but human employees were also strictly bound to their contracts. One was not able to speak about any goblin business without explicit permission to do so. Breaking this clause would lead to an instant death, well, if one was lucky, that is. Goblins were famous for being vicious.

Deep in the halls of the Bank still sat one Goblin. His motionless position amongst the chaos and polished battle armor seemed out of place behind an impressively polished banker's desk. This subdued male was Ragnok, the Banking director of Gringotts and the chief of the Goblin nation. All morning he had held meetings to dispute his responsibilities to the elder council and put the final touches to the evacuation plan. They would lead their nation to survival, he was sure of it.

But what now?

Ragnok and the elders had decided not to warn the wizarding kind. Some would say, he did not care for the safety of his customers, but that was only part of his reasoning. His main concern was the survival and safety of the goblin nation and Lady Magic herself. But there were other aspects to consider. To inform the wizards would end in hysterics. The wizarding community was at war for several years now. No open fight, mind you, but regularly attacks on everyone who opposed their hardcore traditionalists. Muggleborns and half bloods, half breeds and creatures - all of them were beneath the oppressor and had to willingly take their place at the bottom of the society. Or die while fighting for equal rights. The ministry of magic could not act, or would not want to act. Too many of these proud pure blood elitists had been the pillar of society in the last centuries. They were the members of the wizengamot and financiers of the ministry.

For another, goblins were not respected. Wizards and witches regarded themselves as "superiors" forcing all other magical beings to submit to their often foolish and discriminating laws. Ironically, they refused goblins to use wands. Not that Goblins would need force laws upon other races without knowing about their characteristics and needs was indeed a foolish thing, but wizards could easily even top that. They entrusted those, who they discriminated, with almost all financial resources of Britain. Foolish wizards indeed.

Another reason was rather obvious. Struggle in Gringotts would be bad for their business. Even without an ounce of logic, which wizard would be mad enough to store their gold in a bank ready to collapse?

So he was steadfast in his opinion and would stand his ground. That is, should he still be alive, when delegates of the Ministry of Magic acknowledged the magic around them and visit the ancient race to took charge to protect the status quo for their own kind.

But what now?

For hours he felt the pull to their ancient ritual chamber. He had resisted because the safety of his people are more important than his urges, even if he had learned before to listen to his gut. Now, everything was settled, and Ragnok stilled again to give a silent and heartfelt farewell to his loyal warriors and crafters, bankers, healers and academics. His place was inside the ritual chamber, awaiting the inevitable, the grand peak of the ongoing storm. And so, he opened the heavy metal doors, gave his warriors the order to seal him inside until he gave the signal to reopen the room and sealed himself inside.

There he stood before a myriad of circles and waited for hours for his fate to come.


End file.
